Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 - The Lost Chapters Remastered
by Newbie52
Summary: Taking place during the events of Modern Warfare 3, this story follows Price, Soap, and their allies in their hunt for the war criminal Makarov. As the fate of the war rests in the hand of the disavowed Task Force 141 and Team Metal, two soldiers must relive their pasts in an attempt to forge a new future. As always, Reviews and Comments are welcome. Rated M for violence.
1. New Arrivals

"Prologue":

 _There is only one way to end a war. More death. So much death…_

"Sir," a militia soldier said, tearing Yuri from his thoughts as the Russian soldier opened his eyes. The militia soldier pointed a street in the distance. "Nikolai's inbound."

Yuri opened his eyes and reached for his binoculars, gazing over the balcony of the house he was in.

Nikolai's small, three-man chopper came in for a landing.

Yuri slowly lowered the binoculars, knowing that Nikolai's return could mean that the war had finally found him. _So much war. War beyond Patriotism. War that brings Chaos. Anarchy._

Yuri had arrived in Himachal Pradesh months ago, seeking an escape. But the sins of his past had inadvertently followed. There were innocent civilians that had died because of him _._

Yuri had fought back, eliminating every threat. _Death and blood. Those are the ways of the days. It wasn't always like this. Not before the days of Zakhaev. Not before the days of Mak—_

"It looks like someone is with him," the militia soldier said, squinting his eyes.

Yuri looked down the binoculars again to see Nikolai running out of the chopper. A few members of the militia ran forward with a stretcher. The man that was placed on the stretcher appeared to have a knife wound in his chest.

Yuri looked down for a moment. _He'll be dead soon._

Yuri redirected his gaze to the man running along the left side of the stretcher, recognizing Captain Price immediately.

Though, the older soldier would never recognize Yuri.

 _Yuri saw the brave soldier running toward him._

 _The S.A.S. insurgent had fought hard and admirably. He deserved a quick and painless death._

 _Yuri raised his rifle._

Yuri lowered the binoculars and looked at the militia soldier. "Get the doctor," he ordered. "We'll need his help."

The soldier moved away.

Yuri leaned against the railing of the balcony. _I will have to be as vigilant as ever. If the S.A.S. soldier ever finds out who I am…_

Yuri moved into the compound as the doctor arrived and readied the room for an emergency procedure. A few seconds later, Nikolai, Price, and the wounded soldier burst through the front doors of the complex.

Yuri stood just outside the room as the doctor did his work. The man on the stretcher was fading fast.

Yuri looked at the Price who was still at the wounded soldier's side. The old man looked as beaten and bloodied as he was battle-hardened.

No different than the last time Yuri had seen him.

 _Yuri adjusted his rifle to use it as a weapon for hand to hand combat as the S.A.S. solider rushed forward._

"We're losing him!" the doctor shouted. He grabbed the crash cart. "Charging. Three. Two. One. Clear!"

The man on the stretcher came back to life. His breathing began to stabilize but the doctor still had to perform surgery. Yuri knew that, unfortunately, there was too little morphine to make it painless for the soldier.

Still, the man on the stretcher was fighting through the pain. Fighting to stay alive.

Yuri nodded respectfully to the wounded soldier. His thoughts returned to the past as he saw the same respect in Price's eyes.

 _Even after the S.A.S. soldier was hauled off Yuri, he continued to fight. Multiple men met their end before Yuri clubbed the soldier with the rifle. Finally, the soldier ceased his physical resistance. Content to meet death._

Fate had it that the man would survive to meet Yuri another day.

Yuri looked at Price again.

 _Yuri, almost reluctantly, knocked the S.A.S. soldier out. The man had fought hard. He did not deserve the life of a prisoner. He was condemned by Makarov to a life of hell._

Price looked in Yuri's direction.

Yuri quickly averted his eyes.

 _Once in the surviving helicopter, Yuri tore off his ski mask. He was finished. Done with following the orders of a madman. The orders of a terrorist. The orders of someone who he once called friend. The enemy of his enemy._

Yuri knew Price.

Price did not know Yuri.

Yuri hoped he never would.


	2. No Rest for the Wary

Following the events of "Prologue":

"Who's your best man?" Price asked Nikolai.

"Yuri," Nikolai said without hesitation. "Ex-Spetsnaz. Only man I know who hates Makarov more than you."

"Get him," Price ordered. "They'll use the ridgeline for cover and fly in from the south."

"How do you know?" Nikolai asked.

"It's what I'd do."

A few minutes later, Yuri entered the room and stepped forward.

Price sized him up in a second. _He's battle-hardened and sure of his skills._ Although the Russian was not breaking eye contact, Price noticed that Yuri was gripping his rifle tightly. _And nervous… But not about the coming battle._

Yuri glanced at Soap as the wounded soldier groaned in pain.

Price turned away. _Can't question the help now. That'll come later. We've got to get Soap to safety._

There was an explosion in the distance.

"How the hell did Makarov find us?" Price asked Nikolai.

"I don't know," Nikolai admitted, grabbing a weapon. "I stole Shadow Company helicopter when Shepherd blew base. Makarov shouldn't have been able to track it."

"Did Makarov give you anything?" Yuri asked in English. "Any help? Any tech?"

"He…" Price froze. "Son of a bitch."

Price pulled out the small device he had activated in order to intercept Shadow Company's communications.

"The decryption codes," Nikolai spat.

"He must have back-traced the activation codes to find our location," Price said quietly. He threw the device on the floor and smashed it with his foot, frustrated at his own ignorance. _The enemy of my enemy._

Yuri moved to the window. "We don't have much time."

Price looked at Yuri suspiciously. "How did you know?"

"Makarov doesn't seem like the kind of man to give anything for free," Yuri answered.

Price opened his mouth to pursue the subject further but stopped as a nearby house exploded.

Nikolai looked at Price. "They're here."


	3. To Know a Man

Following the events of "Turbulence":

"Yuri," Soap said, rising from a crate. "On your feet."

Yuri set aside his weapon.

Soap, Yuri, Price, and Nikolai were sailing to their destination on a short, wide fishing boat they'd chosen to covertly enter Sierra Leone. Otherwise, it would be impossible to get to Makarov's shipments, the contents of which were still a mystery.

After dropping Soap, Price, and Yuri off on land, Nikolai would take the boat and sail it a safe distance away. When coast was clear, the Russian pilot would ditch the boat and make his way around a nearby island until he reached the stashed evac chopper.

"What am I doing?" Yuri asked Soap, rising from his own crate.

" _We_ are going to spar," Soap replied, setting aside his weapons and the two bags that contained their gear.

Yuri shrugged, setting aside his knife and his sidearm.

Soap took a step back and flexed his muscles. He had spent the forty-nine days since their escape from India recuperating. There were still chest pains of course, but Soap was used to war wounds and could fight through the pain and discomfort.

Soap sized Yuri up as the Russian slowly stepped forward.

…

Price observed from atop a crate off to the side, holstering his pistol as he took out a cigar. _This should be interesting._

…

Yuri and Soap walked to the middle of the boat. After exchanging respectful nods, they started trading jabs. It was clear that the two soldiers were evenly matched even though they were both holding back. After thirty seconds of trading jabs, crosses, and hooks, the two men separated.

…

Nikolai exited the cockpit and sat down next to Price. "What's going on?"

"Soap's testing the new guy," Price grunted, lowering his cigar.

…

Soap batted aside another jab.

"You're good," Soap admitted, taking a half step back. He barely batted aside another three jabs. "Quick. Precise."

Soap blocked another cross from Yuri but was unable to block Yuri's follow-up punch to his lower stomach.

Soap took the blow and backed up. "Effective," he complimented. "You fight like a man who's taken many beatings and learned from them."

Once again, Yuri made no reply.

"You're a loner," Soap added.

Yuri tensed for a split second before he started throwing in kicks with his punches.

"But you weren't always a loner," Soap guessed, noticing the increased aggression.

The two soldiers continued to spar.

…

Price looked at Nikolai. "How much do you know about Yuri?" he asked the Russian quietly.

"Not much," Nikolai said with a shrug. "I heard he came to Himachal Pradesh about a month and a half before war. A group of Ultranationalists showed up some time later and started shooting villagers. Yuri saved a lot of lives. But he's never discussed his past."

"Why we're the Ultranationalists there?" Price asked.

"There was no one left alive to ask."

Price leaned lowered his cigar. "Anything else?" he pressed as they neared the shore.

"He has never given me reason to distrust him," Nikolai answered carefully.

…

The two soldiers were sparring faster than ever. Although they weren't aiming to hurt, each man grunted when the other's fists or feet hit their marks.

Soap caught another kick and pushed Yuri back. Yuri took a step back and assumed a defensive fighting position. Soap backed up a few steps towards a crate.

"Soap," Price called. "Finish up. We move in five."

Soap looked toward the front of the boat and saw their destination in sight. He looked down at the crate in front of him. There were a few bladeless harpoon staffs leaning up against the box of supplies.

"Right," Soap said as Yuri relaxed his stance. "One last thing."

Soap grabbed the long staff and charged Yuri, swinging horizontally. Yuri ducked under the swing with a centimeter to spare.

Soap repositioned the improvised weapon in his hands and lunged forward with the staff like a spear. Yuri brought his hands up in an 'X', blocking the staff upward before quickly grabbing the end, tugging it down to his right leg, and stomping down on the weapon, breaking it in half.

Yuri quickly grabbed Soap's arms and jumped up, kicking him in chest with both feet before both soldiers fell to the ground.

…

Price lowered his cigar in surprise.

Nikolai moved forward to separate the fighters when Soap started laughing as he sat up.

"And he's resourceful," Soap said, rising to his feet. He walked over to Yuri and extended his hand. "You'll do, Yuri."

Yuri took Soap's hand and got to his feet.

"Yuri," Nikolai said as they drew closer to the shore. "Can I have hand? We at least have to look part of fishermen."

Yuri moved to the other end of the boat to assist Nikolai.

Soap sat next to Price.

The older soldier continued to smoke his cigar.

"What do you think?" Soap asked.

Price lowered his cigar again. "I think…" _It's been a while since I haven't been able to answer that question. This whole thing with Yuri is… uneasy._ Price turned to Soap. "I think that you're too trusting."

"That's the difference between you and me," Soap said, grabbing a cigar of his own. "I trust too much. And you trust too little."

Price grunted "I would have thought that after Shepherd—"

"I know what trust Shepherd cost," Soap growled. "Believe me."

Price took a deep breath. "I do believe you," he said firmly. "And I've never blamed you for Shepherd. I was the one that approached him years ago when we created the One-Four-One."

"We're short on allies, Price," Soap said calmly. "We couldn't have escaped I Himachal Pradesh without Yuri. And he has a hell of a lot more intel on Makarov than we do."

"We don't have a choice," Price admitted. "That doesn't mean we should trust him."

Soap shook his head and stood. "One day, you're going to have to go against your nature, Price."

"I can't," Price said firmly.

"We'll find out eventually," Soap replied, tossing Price one of the bags with their gear. "And I hope I'm there to see it."


	4. Memories of Failure

Following the events of "Back on the Grid":

Yuri stopped firing as the chopper containing Makarov's cargo receded into the distance.

"Damn!" Price spat. He spoke into the com. "Nikolai, the shipment's gone! We missed our windo."

"What about Makarov?" Nikolai asked.

"Must have done a runner. Get us out of here."

"Empty," Soap said, examining a crate. "What do you think Makarov was after?"

"We'll ask the bastard when we find him," Price replied.

Yuri shook his head in frustration and walked back into the church, sitting down on the bench nearest to the entrance.

A few minutes later, Soap sat down next to him. "Nikolai will be here in a few minutes," he said. "When we get back to base, we'll figure out our next move."

"We'll wait until Makarov makes a move of his own," Yuri countered, standing up. "That's all we can do."

"I'm glad to see you're optimistic," Soap grunted. "But I guess it's better than focusing on what'll happen if we fail."

"Failure means death," Yuri said. "For ourselves or those we fail."

Soap raised an eyebrow.

"And I've seen much death," Yuri said with regret, looking at the floor. He looked at Soap. "I know there will be more before this is over. I plan to place Makarov on the list."

"Sounds personal," Soap observed.

"His death will make the world a better place," Yuri replied, evading the comment.

 _Dead. So many dead because I didn't stop him._

 _A flash of light. Thirty-Thousand lives extinguished._

 _An elevator opening. Death. Men. Woman. Children. People going about their normal lives._

 _War. A war I could have prevented._

 _There is only one way to end a war. More death._

 _Or just one._

"You've been betrayed before," Soap said, rising from his seat. It wasn't a question.

"Makarov is a traitor to Russia," Yuri said, turning away.

They heard Nikolai's helicopter land outside.

Yuri stood and moved to exit the building without another word.

"You haven't trusted anyone since your betrayal," Soap said with certainty.

Yuri stopped at the door. His tattooed right arm held the frame. "No. I haven't."


	5. Makarov's Cargo

Following the events of "Mind the Gap":

"Baseplate, the lorry's down. We're secure," Wallcroft said, lowering his rifle. "What's the status on the others? Baseplate, come in. Baseplate, where are the trucks?"

There was no reply. The S.A.S. soldiers and police officers looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. The real trucks were gone, along with their unknown cargo.

Minutes later, there was an explosion. A green gas substance began to leak over, around, and through nearby buildings.

"Gas masks on!" Wallcroft shouted.

All the S.A.S. operatives secured their masks.

The police officers and civilians had no such protection.

The S.A.S. team watched in horror as the officers and civilians staggered and fell to the ground gagging.

There were several more explosions in the distance.

The blasts were followed by more screams of civilians.

Then there was only an eerie silence.

Wallcroft looked at Burns.

Burns nodded.

Wallcroft and Burns ran through the streets of London together, attempting to ferry as many civilians into the subway as they could in an attempt to escape the poisonous gas. Together, they hoped that the monster that did this would be brought to justice.

An hour later, the Russians invaded and the S.A.S. found themselves greatly outnumbered.

Wallcroft looked at Burns as Russian planes flew overhead. "Stick with me. Burns! We have to get as many of the civvies out as possible. Then we join whatever allies we have left!"

Wallcroft hoped that the spirits of his brothers would watch over them. He wished that Gaz and Riley were with him now.

And although Wallcroft could do little about the man responsible for the bombings, he could still fight against the Russian occupation. For now, that was all that could be done.


	6. First Contact

Following the events of "Return to Sender":

James "Sandman" Ramirez sighed and shook his head.

Derek looked up from his briefing.

They were lounging in an abandoned apartment in Hamburg, Germany.

"You alright?" Derek asked.

"No," replied Ramirez irritably.

Derek nodded and remained silent.

Ramirez sighed. "Sorry. I met a guy in Afghanistan before the war. I was going to meet up with him in France… Satory two days from now. He's dead."

"I'm sorry," Derek said, setting down his briefing.

"The worst part is," Ramirez said with a shake of his head. "It probably wasn't quick. A gas bomb went off right next to where he was stationed."

There was a series of gunshots and explosions in the distance.

Both soldiers rose and moved to the window. More gunshots and explosions followed.

"There are people fighting and dying out there," Ramirez spat. "And we're stuck in here, awaiting orders."

"It's bullshit," Derek agreed. "But would you rather be stuck on the front lines waiting for someone else to end the war? At least when we get involved, something big happens."

Ramirez thought for a moment and chuckled before walking away from the window. "You're a wise man, Derek."

Truck walked into the room, carrying a cell phone. "Sir, you've got a call."

Ramirez took the phone. "This is Sandman."

"This is Price."

"Price," Sandman said with a hint of surprise. Derek raised an eyebrow. Sandman nodded. "Thanks for the tip on Kingfish. You should know, Uncle Sam's got a kill-capture order on your head."

"Tell 'em to join the bloody queue," Price replied. "We have a lead on Makarov."

"One moment, please," Sandman said. He raised his voice. "Grinch, get in here."

Grinch entered the room a second later.

Team Metal stood around the cell phone.

Sandman put the phone on speaker and placed it on the table. "You're on speaker with Team Metal. How can we assist, Captain?"

"Makarov's bomb-maker, Volk, is in Paris," Price explained. "We need to act before he bolts. And I can't make the window. You're the only one I trust with this."

"I'm on it," Sandman replied. He looked at his team. "We move out in ten. Truck, find us some transport. Grinch, get on the horn and tell Overlord to figure out how divert us to Paris."

"Yes, sir."

"You got it."

Sandman turned to Derek. "Derek, you're on weapons duty."

Derek 'Frost' Westbrook nodded.

Sandman finished his call with Price as Derek reentered the room a few minutes later.

"Alright," Sandman said to Price. "We'll get word out to you when we can. In the meantime, good luck."

Someone else started talking on Price's end. "Any chance that Derek's last name is Westbrook?" the new man asked.

Ramirez did a double take and tossed the phone to Derek. "I'll give you a minute."

Derek took the phone off speaker. "Frost here."

The man on the other end of the line chuckled. "Frost, huh? I think you took our last conversation a little too literally."

"I knew you weren't a traitor," Derek said with a breath of relief. "It's good to hear from you, Captain MacTavish."

"I see you found yourself a team," MacTavish said with a hint of admiration.

"At least I'm doing something useful," Derek replied. "I much prefer rescuing Vice Presidents than being stuck doing nothing."

MacTavish grunted. "You're talking to the guy who was recovering from a knife for over a month."

Ramirez looked into the room again.

Derek nodded in his direction.

"I have to get back to it," Derek said into the phone. "It was good to hear from you."

"It's good to know you're on our side," MacTavish replied. "Look me up after the war. There's something we need to discuss. MacTavish out."


	7. The Coming Storm

Following the events of "Iron Lady":

"Kamarov," Price said quietly into the phone. "It's Price. Yes. I'm alive. And I need your help. Nikolai told me you defected shortly after he did. We're in Somalia and we need to get into Prague. Makarov and his top advisers are meeting at the Hotel—"

"Lustig," Kamarov interrupted with a hint of surprise.

"How did you know?" Price asked.

"My men have been fighting a hard battle in that area," Kamarov replied. "However, that region has no strategic value. This explains a lot. Give me three hours and I will find a way to get you in."

"Contact me when you get it done," Price said, ending the call.

…

Yuri watched as Price left the room, pulling out his pistol.

The sandstorm outside continued to rock the windows.

"Now we wait," Soap said, sitting next to Yuri.

"Who's Kamarov?" Yuri asked.

"Old friend," Soap replied. "During the Russian Civil War, he helped us rescue Nikolai after his cover was blown with the Ultranationalists. Kamarov was also our… _my_ extraction after we killed Zakhaev. At the time I thought I was the only survivor."

Yuri nodded to himself. _So he was the other S.A.S. operative._

"The way you and Price interact," Yuri said carefully. "I thought you two were always together."

"Not always," Soap said. "Still, even in his imprisonment, Price gave me the cause I needed to keep going. Even if I didn't want it."

"It is good to have a purpose," Yuri admitted.

"Sometimes we all need a little help finding our purpose," Soap said, lighting a cigar.


	8. The Pistol

Following the events of "Eye of the Storm":

Yuri loaded his sniper rifle as Soap settled in.

"I'm in position," Price said through their coms. "The meeting should start in an hour."

"Good luck," Soap said.

"You too," Price replied.

Yuri and Soap were positioned at the top of the church overlooking the Hotel Lustig.

In less than two hours, Makarov would be dead.

It was only five minutes before Soap sighed. "I hate this game."

"What game?" Yuri asked, looking up from his rifle.

Soap took out his sidearm and started to take it apart and put it back together again. "The 'waiting game'. It feels like the longer you wait, the worse the odds."

"It's all in your head," Yuri replied. He went back to checking his rifle. _The gun I will use to kill Makarov. The gun I will use to kill my old fri—_

"What's in _your_ head?" Soap asked, looking down the sights of his reassembled pistol.

"Nothing," Yuri said crisply.

"Bullshit," Soap said with a chuckle.

"I'm just ready to get this done," Yuri replied.

"Then what?"

"Then we go our separate ways," Yuri answered.

"Well, if we all make it through this," Soap said, placing the pistol in its holster. "You have a spot on the team. Price will come around eventually."

"What team?" Yuri asked.

"Before we were disavowed," Soap began, gazing at the hotel. "Price and I were leading a team that prevented wars like this. Now, we're all that's left. But maybe after this is over, we can rebuild."

Yuri grunted but said nothing.

"We have a long wait," Soap reminded the Russian, closing his eyes.

Yuri sighed. "Why does Price always have that pistol on him?" he asked finally.

Soap chuckled. "Interesting question," he said, opening his eyes. "The pistol has had at least three owners. It's seen a lot of action."

"Passed down?" Yuri guessed.

Soap nodded. "When Price was captured after Zakhaev's death, he passed the pistol on to me. I returned it to Price when we rescued him from prison."

"And?" Yuri pressed. "Why is it so important?"

Soap closed his eyes again and thought for a moment. "The pistol is a tool."

"A tool for what?"

"Duty," Soap said. "Duty and Service. The pistol represents the work we do."

Yuri sat back. "It sounds like a big responsibility; holding that pistol."

"The One-Four-One; our old team," Soap explained. "Was held together by what the pistol represents. Duty. Loyalty. Service. Brotherhood. The mission of the One-Four-One was to do what was right for the world. Whoever holds the pistol has a responsibility to make things happen."

"Why didn't you keep it?" Yuri asked.

"It gave me what I needed," Soap answered carefully. "Price left it to me so that I could lead the One-Four-One. It gave me purpose. When we rescued Price, I felt it needed to be returned to its rightful owner."

"I'm surprised the pistol hasn't been lost it in all this chaos," Yuri commented.

"Look at it this way," Soap said, leaning forward. "The day that one of us forsakes that pistol… is the day that the war gets personal."

"And what happens if the war gets personal?" Yuri asked, leaning forward as well.

"Then God help whoever dealt the first blow," Soap said. He looked Yuri in the eye. "And God save whoever hits back."

Yuri nodded gravely and looked at the Hotel Lustig. "You are the first soldier I've met in a long time who knows the difference between being in a war and being on a warpath."

"It's a difficult distinction to make," Soap admitted.

…

Price sat silently on the roof, listening to the entire conversation.

Yuri and Soap had never turned off their coms.

Price sighed, thinking about his protégé and brother in arms. _That man is wiser than I could ever be._ Price took out his pistol, thinking about the first time he had met John "Soap" MacTavish. _This world doesn't deserve a man like him. But it would be a darker place if he were gone._


	9. The Forsaking

Following the events of "Blood Brothers":

Yuri stood completely still as Price continued to hold the Desert Eagle to his head.

"Okay, Yuri. You've brought yourself some time," Price growled. He hauled Yuri roughly to his feet before leveling his weapon again. "For now."

Yuri let out the breath he didn't know he was holding as Price turned away.

Yuri had told Price almost everything.

Yuri's rescue of Zakhaev.

The nuclear detonation that Yuri could do nothing to stop.

The intel Yuri had sent to the United States military, the S.A.S., and the Russian government about Makarov.

Yuri had been caught and shot under Zakhaev International.

Yuri had been left to die as he heard the death of hundreds above him.

Yuri had tried to stop it.

Yuri couldn't stop it.  
Yuri eventually healed.

Yuri ran.

The only thing Yuri didn't tell Price was of their first meeting.

They had come to blows long before this moment.

Yuri knew Price would kill him if he knew the full story.

Yuri wasn't willing to die. Not yet. Not until the war was over.

And so Price let him live.

"I'm nearing resistance headquarters with reinforcements!" Nikolai shouted, interrupting the tense silence. "Run while you can, my friends!"

Yuri and Price looked at each other.

Yuri ran up the stairs. The very stairs that he had fallen down after Price had punched him.

"Nikolai!" Yuri said quickly. "Fall back!"

Yuri slowed to a stop as he reentered the room where Soap died. Despite the chaos of the battle, the S.A.S. soldier still rested peacefully on the table.

The pistol lay on his chest.

Price had given the weapon to his brave comrade as protection on his way to the afterlife.

Yuri looked down gravely. _Price is on the warpath now. He is damned._

Nikolai burst into the room. "Yuri, why are you still here? We have to mo—" He stopped short as he too saw Soap's body.

"No…" Nikolai ran over to Soap and started to shake him, as if to wake him from his eternal sleep.

Yuri ran over and grabbed Nikolai.

"He's dead!" Yuri shouted, hauling Nikolai away from Soap's body. "Nikolai, he's dead!"

"No!" Nikolai shouted.

The windows to their right and the wall behind Nikolai exploded inward, sending both men off their feet.

Soap's body fell to the ground and the pistol slid across the floor.

Yuri sadly gazed at Soap's body for a moment before hauling Nikolai to his feet and moving toward the stairs. "I'm sorry."


	10. The Fire Rises

Following the events of "Stronghold":

"Nikolai," Price said as he and Yuri parachuted over the river and into the forest below. "Get us out of here."

"Roger. I'm on the way."

Price and Yuri landed next to the river, ditched their parachutes, and ran into the forest, not stopping until they reached the clearing where Nikolai was going to pick them up.

The rain and lightning had finally stopped, allowing the moon to slowly emerge from behind the clouds, leaving only an eerie silence.

Price set his rifle down and started pacing the perimeter. He glanced over as Yuri took off his night vision goggles and placed them on the ground along with his own rifle.

Yuri took a deep breath. "Price," the Russian said quietly. "I'm sorry about So—"

Price grabbed Yuri and pinned him against a nearby tree. "Don't you dare say his name," Price growled. "You aren't good enough for that."

"Neither are you," Yuri said calmly. "We're the same, Price."

Price tugged Yuri away from the tree and threw another punch. Yuri tumbled to the ground.

Price stepped forward. "How dare you?" he whispered angrily.

"I dare because I'm right," Yuri grunted, rising as he wiped blood from his lip. "We're both the same. We've both lost friends, if only in different ways. We both know failure. We've both been at war so long with ourselves and the world that we don't know what peace is. We never will."

"You don't know anything about me," Price said quietly. "I am _nothing_ like you."

"That is what Soap understood," Yuri continued, ignoring Price's words. "He remembers that we fight for those who aren't at war. Not just for those who are. We never go to war for ourselves."

Price pulled out his pistol and leveled it at Yuri's head.

Yuri stood his ground.

"You're the reason Soap's dead," Price said through gritted teeth.

Yuri shook his head. "You and I both know who is responsible for his death. Makarov wasn't in the castle. You still need me, Price,"

Price tightened his grip on the pistol.

Yuri took a step forward and placed his head against the pistol's muzzle. "If you want to kill me," the Russian continued. "Then go ahead. You would only be showing me mercy."

Price narrowed his eyes and started to pull back the trigger.

Nikolai's helicopter, provided by the Prague resistance, swooped overhead and started to land.

Price looked up and slowly lowered the gun. He nodded at the helicopter and faced Yuri.

Yuri didn't look away.

Price grabbed Yuri by the vest and stared into the Russian's eyes.

Nikolai ran into the clearing a minute later and stopped. His flashlight illuminated the half of the two soldier's faces, leaving the other halves shrouded in darkness.

Nikolai looked from one man to the other.

Price was shaking with anger. His mouth moved but no words came out. After a moment he found his voice. "You help me end this war. After that, you _leave._ And I never see your face again."

Price shoved Yuri away and walked passed Nikolai.

…

Yuri glanced at Nikolai as Price boarded the chopper.

Nikolai turned and looked at Yuri.

Yuri nodded at him and tipped is head in the direction of the helicopter.

Nikolai nodded in return and followed Price.

Yuri almost regretted that Price didn't pull the trigger. _But that is not what Soap would have wanted. This is getting too personal for the old man._ Yuri grabbed his night vision goggles as well as the two rifles. _The least I can do is stick around long enough that he doesn't get himself killed. Or that he doesn't lose himself along the way. Soap would regret that the most._

Price was already in the copilot's seat when Yuri reached the helicopter.

The chopper took off.

As the aircraft banked around, Price's face was momentarily illuminated by the moon.

There was a single tear rolling down his cheek.


	11. Left Behind

Following the events of "Scorched Earth":

Sandman grabbed Grinch's rifle and pushed it down, waving off the attack. "We can't risk it!"

The helicopter flew away, taking Vorshevsky's daughter with it.

"Overlord, negative precious cargo," Sandman continued with regret. "We lost her."

"Sandman…"

Sandman turned to see Frost collapse to the ground, unconscious. "Frost!" he said frantically. "Shit! Grinch. Truck. Help me!"

Truck came running down the hall as Sandman and Grinch gently rolled Frost over. He had a large chunk of wooden debris imbedded in his skin just below his right ribcage.

Truck checked his pulse. "Still alive," he said with relief. "But he needs medical attention."

"Overlord!" Sandman said again. "We need med-evac now! Frost is wounded! He's unconscious!"

"Rodger that," Overlord said after a brief hesitation. "The German's are giving one final push. We can have someone to you in three minutes. Standby."

Sandman looked down into the streets below. _The Germans are putting up a good fight. We can wait._

"Wait a minute," Grinch said. He turned and gave Sandman a look of confusion. "The door exploded outward with you in front of him. How did _he_ end up with wounded when _you_ barely have a scratch?"

"I don't know," Sandman admitted. "He shouldn't have a wound unless… Truck, help me get his vest off."

Sandman and Truck gently removed Frost's vest, careful not to touch the piece of wooden debris still imbedded in Frost's skin.

Sandman held up the vest, gently probing the hole with his fingers. Glass and small bits of metal fell out of the various layers.

There were also a few extra cuts around Frost's wound.

"The building," Grinch guessed. "When the building fell there was glass everywhere. His vest must have gotten damaged. That's how the wood got through."

"Overlord," Sandman said impatiently. "What's the status on our evac?"

"Close. Get your man ready."

…

Derek 'Frost' Westbrook slowly opened his eyes. He looked around and saw that he was in an office cubicle that had been turned into a makeshift hospital room.

There were people moving outside the cubical, speaking frantically. _French._

"Ramirez?" Derek called. "Grinch? Truck?"

Grinch came around the corner. "You look like shit," he said with relief. "Welcome back. Don't bother trying to get up. The doctors said that's a no-no. Thanks for the scare by the way."

"Grinch, knock it off," Truck ordered, walking into the cubicle. "Or you'll be the next patient in here."

"As you wish, Truck," Grinch said giving Derek a sly wink. "All joking aside, you did great. You've gotten us through some crazy shit the last few months."

"You _did_ scare us," Truck admitted. "How you feeling?"

"Like shit," Derek grunted, tapping his fingers on the bed. "Are you guys all good?"

"Yeah," Grinch answered. He looked down and sighed, speaking quietly. "But some bad news came in."

"Ramirez said he'd like to tell you," Truck said.

Derek looked away. _Someone didn't make it._

"Look," Truck said, getting Derek's attention. "You did great. Grinch and I have to get ready to go. We'll see you when we get back."

"Where are you going?" Derek asked.

"To end the war," Grinch replied simply. "Adios, amigo."

Truck and Grinch left the cubicle.

Shortly after, Ramirez entered and stood in the corner. "You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," Derek answered. "What the hell happened?"

Ramirez laughed. "Well, _somebody_ decided not to mention having a ripped vest after a building fell on us. When the door exploded, you were wounded by some wooden debris."

"I saved _your_ life," Derek argued lightly.

"That you did," Ramirez agreed, tipping an imaginary hat. "Anyway, the doctors managed to get the wood and glass out, but they want to keep you here for a few days."

"So what happens now?" Derek asked.

"The rest of Metal has been sent out on assignment," Ramirez said after a moment. "We think we know where Makarov is keeping the President Vorshevsky and the girl. We tracked her cell phone all the way to some mines in Siberia. Makarov must be getting sloppy."

Derek tried to sit up.

Ramirez gently pushed him back down. "Don't even think about it," he ordered. "You need to rest up."

"I hate being wounded already," Derek muttered.

Ramirez ran a hand down his own face. "Well I don't mean to make it worse, but some news came in. Captain MacTavish… died in the line of duty."

Derek looked away in grief and let out a breath. "How?" he asked calmly. "When?"

"Two days ago. He was trying to take down Makarov," Ramirez answered. "There was an explosion. MacMillan wasn't able to contact me until a few hours ago. I'm sorry, Derek."

Derek closed his eyes and let the news sink in. "Well, MacTavish went down fighting," he said after a few seconds. He nodded to himself. "That's what he would have wanted."

Ramirez placed his hand on Derek's shoulder. "I've gotta go finish saving the world. We'll get drinks when I get back."

Ramirez turned to walk away.

"Ramirez," Derek called. Ramirez turned back to Derek. Derek smiled. "Good luck."

Ramirez walked back into the room and clasped Derek's arm. "You too. Stay frosty."

After Ramirez left, Derek fell asleep for a short time. When he woke up, the doctors told him he was free to move around. Unsure of what to do next, Derek walked through the makeshift hospital. Eventually, he found the section of the building where civilians were being treated.

"Do you speak English?" Derek asked one of the doctors.

The doctor nodded.

"My blood type is 'O-Negative'," Derek said calmly. "Where do you need me?"


	12. Reflection

"Captain Price," Ramirez said, walking forward and extending his hand. "Allow me to express my sympathies. I didn't know Captain MacTavish, but Derek Westbrook said he was a hell of a soldier."

Team Metal, Price, Yuri, and Nikolai stood in a secluded park just outside of Paris. The American team had attained a Pave Low and an extra pilot that would guide the group to Siberia.

Nikolai had also kept the small chopper given to him by the Prague resistance. The chopper was currently resting next to the Pave Low.

Price slowly shook Ramirez's hand.

The Brit's Russian friend shifted uncomfortably beside him.

"Let's go," Price said gruffly, nodding at the Pave Low. "We've got a job to do."

Ramirez nodded. He and the rest of Metal accompanied Price and the Russian into the Pave Low.

The choppers took off and flew side-by-side.

It was decided that Nikolai would land his chopper at a safe distance from the mines and, if necessary, provide emergency evac support. A separate team would be waiting close by to provide ground support as well as additional troops if needed.

…

Yuri remained silent for the first part of the trip.

They had just lifted off from an American aircraft carrier they'd rendezvoused with to refuel when Ramirez asked the million-dollar question. "So, where were you when World War Three started?"

Truck raised his hand. "I was working on my truck. I figured something was wrong when a Russian landed on top of it."

Team Metal laughed.

Price and Yuri remained silent.

"Where were you?" Truck asked Ramirez.

"I was with Sergeant Foley in the White House; awaiting new orders.," Ramirez replied. He turned to the Russian. "What about you? Yuri, was it?"

"I was taking a vacation in Africa," Yuri answered evasively.

Price slowly rose and moved to the other side of the helicopter where he looked out a window, staring into the darkness.

Yuri looked down and nodded. _I should never expect to be forgiven._ _But words need to be said._

Truck broke the silence. "Where were you, Grinch?"

Grinch's face turned red and he looked down. "Pass."

His two squad mates goaded him.

"C'mon."

"Were you all alone?"

Grinch put his hands up. "Okay. Okay. Yes, I was alone. I was watching a movie."

"Oh yeah?"

"What movie?"

Grinch looked down again. "Red Dawn… 1984."

There was awkward silence.

Truck brought a palm up to his face and shook his head.

Ramirez scoffed and pointed at Grinch. "You have a sick sense of humor."

"The scary thing is," Grinch said, speaking above the laughter. "It's true."

Truck started singing in a deep voice. "You're a mean one… Mr. Grinch. You really are a heel."

"You're as cuddly as a cactus," Ramirez added. "You're as charming as an eel, Mr. Griiiii—inch."

"Please stop!" Grinch begged.

Ramirez and Truck started singing together. "You're a bad banana with a… greasy black peel…"

Yuri rose as Ramirez and Truck continued to sing.

Grinch tried in vain to silence them.

Yuri walked up to Price.

Price continued to look out the window.

"Were you going to pull the trigger?" Yuri asked, referring to their disagreement in the forest.

"Yes," Price answered with certainty.

Yuri nodded, knowing that Price was telling the truth. He would be dead if Nikolai hadn't shown up.

"Are there any more of Makarov's friends we need to worry about?" Price asked, not looking away from the window.

Yuri nodded. "Two. Anatoly was the man who hacked into the Zakhaev International's security cameras. He got Makarov's team in," the Russian explained. "There was also Driver. I do not know his real name. He was a last-minute addition prior to Zakhaev International. Makarov enlisted him to drive the getaway vehicle. But they aren't our real problem right now. Neither is Makarov."

"We end this war and then you leave," Price grunted. " _I'll_ deal with Makarov."


	13. The Dead Die Hard

Following the events of "Down the Rabbit Hole":

"What is it?" Makarov demanded, answering his private cell phone.

"Yuri is dead," Anatoly said.

"Show me."

Anatoly sent the feed from a hidden camera in the mines of Siberia to Makarov's phone.

The camera was positioned on the stone wall above a catwalk. In front of it was a large group of Makarov's men shooting down at President Vorshevsky and the five enemy soldiers covering him.

One soldier, Makarov knew to be Captain Price. Yuri was also providing cover fire. They were moving toward a helicopter when a Russian on the catwalk launched an RPG at one of the American evac choppers.

The chopper crashed to the ground a few feet from Yuri, blowing the former Ultranationalist off his feet sending shrapnel into his chest.

Then the camera blacked out, hit by a stray bullet as the soldier was shot dead by Price.

The phone switched back to audio.

Makarov smiled. _No man could survive that. Now, I have nothing to fear. They're last chance at tracking me is dead._

"Unfortunately," Anatoly continued cautiously. "Vorshevsky was extracted from the mine by a second enemy chopper."

"Do you know where Vorshevsky is now?" Makarov asked calmly.

"They are about three miles from my location," Anatoly answered. "I've got men positioned on the cliffs. They're camouflaged in the snow and are awaiting orders. But we already lost the daughter."

"Nuclear war is no longer an option," Makarov said after a moment. "Kill Vorshevsky and Price. We can manipulate their deaths to fuel the war further. The world will still burn. And through the great fire, it will be reborn."

"I'll get it done."

"See that you do," Makarov replied. "If you fail to retrieve Vorshevsky, we are to have no further contact. Unless there is a pressing matter, this number isn't to be called again."

Makarov ended the call.

…

Price, Yuri, and Vorshevsky had been flying in their small, door-less helicopter for the last twenty minutes.

Price glanced at the other chopper.

Their extraction out of Siberia was another sixteen miles away. The U.S. military had set up a base hidden in the mountains. The only way anyone would find it is if they knew where it was.

The base had also provided three more helicopters that had already rendezvoused with the extraction team five minutes before. The other choppers were the same make and model as Prices and now flanked the extraction chopper on all four sides.

Price closed his eyes for a moment, mourning the loss of Team Metal. Then he looked at Yuri.

"What?" the Russian grunted as he finished placing bandages around his legs.

"How are you still alive?" Price asked. "That helicopter crashed right next to you. The blast may not have killed you, but the debris should have."

Vorshevsky looked at Yuri as well.

"I put on two vests," Yuri replied taking off one vest to reveal another. "This was a suicide mission, Price I'm crazy, not stupid."

Yuri leaned forward and shook out his vests. Chunks of rocks spilled out onto the floor.

"I didn't think you cared about life or death," Price grunted, kicking the rocks out of the helicopter.

"There's something I need to finish," Yuri replied.

"Well, you'll have to finish it later," Price retorted. He sighed. "You should stay off your feet. At least until doctors take a look at them."

"I appreciate everything you and those boys back there have done," Vorshevsky interrupted. "But who are you and why did you save me and my daughter?"

Yuri looked at Price.

"Be my guest," the S.A.S. soldier grunted, leaning back in his seat.

Yuri told the President everything.

Hs past.

His involvement with Makarov.

His actions before and after the massacre at Zakhaev International.

Everything.

Yuri told the leader of his country more than he ever would have told Price and Soap given the choice.

Price knew why Yuri was speaking out. _Because this matters. This will end the war. This will clear the name of the United States. This will clear the names of those who had lived and died in the service. This will clear the names of Task Force 141._

Price listened in silence. _President Vorshevsky is safe. The efforts of the disavowed Task Force 141 and the United States military will bring the war to an end._ Price looked out across the horizon. _And Yuri played a part in all of it._

Then the truth hit Price all at once. _Yuri had played many roles._

 _Rescuing Zakhaev. With Makarov._

 _Witnessing the nuclear detonation. With Makarov._

Price's thoughts turned to a memory from five years before, when he had met Makarov for the first time.

 _The Masked Man recoiled. Stepping back, he jumped off the ground and kicked Price in the chest with both feet._

 _Apprehending Price. With Makarov._

Price had remembered the move.

 _Yuri quickly grabbed Soap's arms and jumped up, kicking him in chest with both feet._

Price chuckled quietly and shook his head at the irony. _Yuri is more complicated than I thought…_

Price's mind returned to the present as Yuri finished his tale. "…the only two accomplices Makarov has left are Anatoly, his tech expert and the getaway driver that took part in the massacre at the Zakhaev International."

"I trust," Vorshevsky started, leaning forward. "You would be willing to present your evidence in front of my chief of staff."

"Yes, sir. I—"

Suddenly, the choppers to their right and left were blown out of the sky and bullets started to clang on the outside of their helicopter.

Yuri immediately threw himself over Vorshevsky, blocking the President from incoming fire.

Price scanned the snow-covered cliffs as their pilot began evasive maneuvers.

"We've got hostiles on the left side cliffs!" their pilot was shouting. "Firing with sniper rifles, machine guns, and RPGs!"

Communications started pouring in from the other helicopters.

"More hostiles coming out of the caves!"

"Trucks coming from behind. More men spilling out!"

Price glanced up as his pilot turned and spoke. "Sir, we're not getting out of this unless we take care of some of those enemy troops!"

"Send three helicopters to clear out the soldiers!" Price ordered. "Chopper One will continue to escort us! We have to get Vorshevsky out of here at all costs!"

The pilot relayed Prices orders.

Price opened his private com. "Nikolai! Where are you?"

"They just loaded the President's daughter on plane," Nikolai answered as a few rounds hit the outside of the chopper. "What the hell was that? That sounded like gunfire!"

Price leaned back as a bullet hit the ceiling directly above his head. "Get out here as fast as you can! We need reinforcements and emergency evac now!"

"I'm on the way!"

The chopper console started beeping.

The pilot looked up in surprise. "Shit! We have a fuel leak!"

"Nikolai, make it quick!" Price shouted.

"Chopper One!" their pilot shouted. "Watch your—"

Chopper One was shot down in front of them.

The shockwave almost threw Vorshevsky out of the helicopter.

Yuri grabbed the President, braced his legs against the inside of the helicopter and with a considerable amount of pain, hauled Vorshevsky back inside.

"Get this chopper on the ground!" Yuri shouted at the pilot.

"We're not going anywhere else!" the pilot replied. "But if we land too close to the ground, we'll be swarmed in seconds!"

Price looked at Yuri. "We need to give Nikolai more time."

Yuri looked outside the chopper and pointed. "Can you land on that cliff?" he asked.

The pilot turned.

The cliff was small, about twenty feet wide. It was long enough as well, but it posed a couple of problems.

"That position will leave us vulnerable against enemy hostiles in the air!" the pilot warned.

"If they had air support, we'd be dead already!" Yuri argued as bullets continued to ping off the outside of the helicopter. "Land the damn chopper!"

"Yuri's right!" Price said. "Can you land there or not?"

The pilot shook his head in defeat. "Yes. But we're not going to have much room. Six feet on either side! Tops!"

"Do it!" Vorshevsky shouted.

…

Anatoly smiled and lowered his binoculars. "They took the bait."

The Russian turned to the other three men soldiers behind him.

One of the men was the getaway driver from Zakhaev International.

"Get two snowmobiles," Anatoly ordered. "Switch the flags. The rest of our men will continue to stall the other choppers. They'll never know we're coming."

…

Price hopped out of the chopper and watched the continuous explosions in the distance.

The pilot stayed in his seat, responding to coms and requesting backup.

The battle was going well for the evac team, but no friendly reinforcements were inbound.

"C'mon, Nikolai," Price said quietly.

Price heard a new sound. He looked across cliff and saw two snowmobiles making their way along a narrow path on the mountain.

Price walked past the helicopter as Yuri started to rise.

"Stay off your feet," Price ordered, handing Yuri the rifle he had been holding. "Protect Vorshevsky."

Yuri nodded.

Price walked toward the snowmobiles as their drivers slowed to a stop.

The four men wore helmets.

Price pulled out his pistol. He was about to open fire when he saw the flags attached to the back of the snowmobiles. _Russian Loyalists. Finally, something's going right._ Price holstered the pistol and looked back at the chopper. "We have reinforcements."

The four men dismounted the snowmobiles and took off their helmets, depositing them on their vehicles.

One of the Russian's walked up to Price and shook his hand.

"We heard you could use some help," the Russian said politely.

"How did you know we were here?" Price asked, skipping further pleasantries.

The man hesitated for moment. "We've always been here. This is where they send those who piss off the high-ranking officials. Had we known this is where the President was being kept, we would have acted."

Price nodded thoughtfully. "We got Vorshevsky out," he continued as he fell in beside the soldier and another Russian who looked to be the second in command. "But our chopper is down."

Price noted the other two Russians falling in a pace behind him on either side. The S.A.S. soldier glanced to the left and right without turning his head. There wasn't much room and they were walking near the cliff's edge.

"What is the President's status?" the Russian in front of him asked.

…

Yuri heard voices approaching the chopper. As he listened, he realized that one of the voices seemed familiar. As they got closer, Yuri recognized two of the Russians.

One was Anatoly.

The other was Driver from Zakhaev International.

…

Price look at the chopper and saw Yuri's eyes widen in surprise.

The Russian behind Price's right shoulder raised his weapon in the direction of the chopper.

Price quickly elbowed the man in the face, causing the shot to go wide.

Price pulled out his knife and stabbed the man to his left in the heart, killing him instantly. He turned to finish the Russian with the pistol, but the other soldier was faster. He backhanded Price with his pistol and kicked the knife out of his hand.

The knife landed near the edge of the cliff.

Price recovered quickly and grabbed the Russian's gun with both hands in a desperate attempt to wrench the pistol from the man's grasp.

…

Yuri raised his weapon as Anatoly and Driver charged toward the chopper, shooting as they ran.

The chopper's pilot tried to return fire only to be shot by Anatoly.

Yuri, mostly focused on blocking Vorshevsky from incoming fire with his own body, managed to shoot Driver in the shoulder.

Yuri felt a gun pressed to his head. "Drop it."

Yuri gritted his teeth in anger, realizing that he had allowed Anatoly to flank him.

Yuri dropped his rifle. He only had his Desert Eagle handgun. But would be impossible for him to grab it from his holster quickly enough.

Anatoly eyed the sidearm and stepped in front of Yuri. "Try it," he goaded.

Yuri didn't move.

…

Price's struggle for the Russian's pistol brought them closer to the edge of the cliff. Price realized that he would reach the edge first and grabbed his own sidearm from its holster, quickly shooting the Russian in the leg.

The Russian made a grab for Price's pistol and turned it, twisting Price's wrist. Price grunted in pain and dropped his pistol before punching the soldier in the side and headbutting him.

…

Yuri watched as Price pressed is attack. He grabbed the soldier's vest, turned the man around, and punched him hard in the face, sending him tumbling off the cliff and to his death. Price retrieved his pistol and turned in time to be shot in the shoulder by Driver.

…

Price went tumbling over the edge of the cliff, grabbing his knife and pistol as he went. He fell a few feet before he managed to stab the knife into the side of the cliff, lodging it in a crack in the snow-covered rocks.

Price gritted his teeth as the sudden stop pulled his wounded shoulder out of its socket. Price fought through the pain and slowly started to pull himself up.

…

Yuri clenched his fist.

"I saw what happened in the mines," Anatoly said to Yuri as Driver returned his gaze to the chopper. "You are supposed to be dead."

"I was supposed to die under Zakhaev International too," Yuri spat. "Old habits die hard."

Anatoly responded by punching Yuri in the face.

Yuri took the punch and returned his gaze to Anatoly, looking the other Russian in the eye.

"I'll have to break this habit for you," Anatoly growled, raising the gun again. "Then I'll kill Vorshevsky. You failed, Yuri."

Suddenly, the there was more gunfire.

Driver fell to the ground with three bullets in his back.

…

Price kept his grip on the edge of the cliff with one hand as he continued firing with the other.

The lead Russian turned and shot at Price.

Price had no choice but to let go of the ledge to avoid being killed. He grabbed the knife with both hands. It shifted slightly under his reapplied weight. He looked at the ground far below him.

It would have blended with the mountain completely were it not for the sharp, black rocks that penetrated the snow.

…

Yuri made a grab for his Desert Eagle, but Anatoly was quicker. He spun and pointed his gun at Yuri.

"Hands up!" the Russian ordered.

Yuri slowly raised his hands.

Anatoly kept his eyes fixed upon Yuri. "Goodbye, Yuri."

BANG.

Yuri heard a high-pitched ringing in his ears. After a second, he realized that he was not the one with a hole in his chest.

Anatoly looked down at his body, momentarily confused when he saw a hole in his chest.

President Vorshevsky froze, the Desert Eagle smoking in his hand.

Anatoly slowly raised his weapon.

Yuri lunged out of the chopper.

…

Price heard a scream of pain. _Yuri…_

There were a few seconds of silence. Price froze as he heard the crunch of snow above him.

It sounded like footsteps. They were getting closer.

Price raised his pistol.

Yuri materialized over Price and knelt, extending an arm. "After all we've been through," the Russian grunted, breathing hard. _"Now_ you're going to shoot me?"

Price relaxed and holstered his weapon. He reached up and grabbed the arm, allowing Yuri to haul him back onto the cliff, eliciting a groan of pain from the Russian.

Price made it onto solid ground just as the knife slipped out of the crack in the rocks and tumbled down into the snow far below.

As Price rose to his feet, he saw the lead Russian on the ground, a knife buried deep in his chest next to a bullet wound. He was still alive. Barely.

Seconds later, Price and Yuri stood over Anatoly, the sun casting their shadows over his dying form.

Yuri was shaking slightly. With a grunt of pain, he knelt. "Where's Makarov, Anatoly?"

The Russian coughed up blood. "Fuck you… Yuri."

Anatoly finally succumbed to his wounds and died.

Price and Yuri searched the body and found a cell phone.

They looked back at the chopper.

Vorshevsky still held Yuri's Desert Eagle.

Yuri limped over and slowly took the weapon from Vorshevsky's still shaking hand. "Well done, sir."

Price walked to the dead pilot. He gently closed the man's eyes and grabbed his patch and tags.

Price and Yuri sat down in helicopter as the sounds of battle in the distance died away.

"Nikolai," Price grunted, examining his wounded shoulder. "Where are you?"

"Close."

Price turned to Vorshevsky. "You alright?"

"I will be. Thanks to you," the President replied. "You saved my life, you've all but ended the war, and most importantly, you saved my daughter. If you ever need anything, just ask."

Yuri looked at Price. "I think I'm done with mountains for a while."

"At least I didn't get kicked in the chest or clubbed in the head by a rifle this time," Price replied.

Yuri raised an eyebrow. "How long have you known?"

"Since now," Price answered. "People can change. Mannerisms and fighting styles don't."

Yuri chuckled. "So, what happens now?"

Nikolai's chopper swooped over the cliff and began to land.

A moment later, the remainder of their helicopter escort fell into formation.

"We go home," Vorshevsky answered.


	14. Ashes to Ashes

January 19th, 2017

Washington D.C.

12:30 p.m.

In the three months since the rescue of President Vorshevsky, there has been peace negotiations with Russia.

Russian troops have been pulled out of the United States.

All soldiers serving the United States and their allies have begun returning home.

…

Sergeant Foley and Corporal Dunn now hold positions at Homeland Security.

…

Wallcroft and Burns have remained in London to aid the reconstruction effort in war ravaged areas.

…

Designation Overlord has been retired.

…

Nikolai has remained in the service of the Russian Government, working as an analyst as well as a pilot for important political figures.

…

MacMillan still maintains his position as Director of Special Operations.

…

Captain Price continues to serve under MacMillan. His hunt for Makarov also continued. Price's desire for vengeance is stronger than ever.

…

After his recovery, Yuri changed his identity and now unofficially hunts Makarov from an office job with the Russian military. Officially, he monitors threats to Russia's national security. On rare occasions he is an unofficial adviser to President Vorshevsky.

…

The location of Derek "Frost" Westbrook is currently unknown.

…

Task Force 141 has yet to be reformed.

…

The final signing of the peace treaty was going to take place in two days at the White House in Washington D.C.

Vorshevsky and his chief of staff are welcomed guests. They have been given a few rooms to work out of in the White House. The peace treaty isn't the only reason the Russian and U.S. military have gathered together in one place.

They are about to exchange information on possible threats to each other's countries. They didn't want individuals like Shepherd or Makarov to manipulate them again.

Yuri, under his new name, is also a welcomed guest.

…

MacMillan looked up as Yuri walked into the White House lobby, removing his sunglasses.

MacMillan had been invited personally by both the United States President and President Vorshevsky to run security as well as take part in the strategy meetings alongside Price.

Right now, he was the most trusted man on Earth.

MacMillan politely shook Yuri's hand. "Haven't seen you since after Siberia."

"I never planned on coming," Yuri admitted. "Despite my efforts to regain his trust, Price is still on the outs with me. But I have a duty to my country."

MacMillan nodded sadly. "He's had a lot of tragedy in the last six years."

They stopped in front of one of the three x-ray machines set up at the checkpoint. Everyone who entered the building had to submit to a background check, be scanned with a wand, and have their luggage x-rayed.

Yuri placed the coded case he carried on the moving conveyer belt.

The guard's eyes widened. "Sir!"

MacMillan walked over. His eyes also widened. He gave the coded case to the guard. "Keep it here," he ordered. "I'll be back in a moment."

MacMillan escorted Yuri to an unused office and closed the door.

Before Yuri could say a word, MacMillan had pinned him against the wall.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" the MacMillan snapped.

"My job," Yuri answered firmly. "The contents of that case contain evidence and data related directly to Makarov and other threats to Russian national security."

"You know what I'm talking about," MacMillan whispered angrily. "If Price were to learn of the contents of that case—"

"I know exactly what would happen," Yuri interrupted. "That's why I haven't told him yet."

MacMillan backed up, allowing Yuri to move away from the wall.

MacMillan took a deep breath to calm himself. He looked at Yuri again. "When that man starts down the warpath," the older man said. "There's no stopping him. You better know what you're doing or Makarov will be the least of your worries."

MacMillan escorted Yuri back to the lobby and walked up to the guard at the scanners.

Yuri patiently stood off to the side.

"This man tells me that the contents of that case relate to national security matters," MacMillan informed the guard. "Let him pass. If you receive any complaints, you shall inform me immediately. Understood?"

The guard looked confused but seemed to know better than to argue. After all, MacMillan was a seasoned strategist and a special guest at the White House.

Yuri walked past the guard.

"And Yuri," MacMillan called. The Russian turned to MacMillan. MacMillan pointed. "Nice suit."

…

The strategy meetings took place in the same hallway. On one side of the hallway, United States officials went over briefings and discussed possible threats to their national security. On the other, Russian strategists discussed the same criteria.

Both the President of the United States and President Vorshevsky were in attendance. After the individual sessions, the chief advisors from both sides would come together and form plans for future threats.

Price nodded at MacMillan who was sitting next to him and looked down the table at the President of the United States.

"Makarov is still our greatest threat," Price insisted. "If we want to have true peace, we need to hunt him down. We all know what he did. We all understand the risks of ignoring him. We have to find him _now_."

Unfortunately for everyone, there was one man in attendance that put up the greatest resistance.

Richard Kriegler stood and looked at Price. The United States Secretary of Defense had recovered fully from his kidnapping after Zakhaev's death. It seemed he still held less than appreciative feelings toward Captain Price and the late John MacTavish.

"Makarov is no longer a threat," Kriegler argued. "There hasn't been a trace of him in months. He's scared shitless."

There were some around the table who nodded in agreement.

Price looked at MacMillan for a moment.

The older man cautioned Price with a shake of his head.

"He brought two countries to their knees in a matter of months," Price said, attempting to quell his irritation. "Had he gotten his way, everyone would be corpses by now and Europe would be a nuclear wasteland. All I'm asking is for a joint mission between our allies, including Russian Intelligence, to track him down."

Kriegler snorted. "Oh, is that all you need. Well than by all means, let's go on some wild goose chase chasing after someone who no longer needs to be found."

Price looked away again, continuing to keep his temper in check. "This isn't something we should sweep under the rug," he growled. "It _will_ come back to haunt us."

"There would be nothing to sweep if MacTavish had done his job and killed Makarov in Prague," Kriegler said with a smirk. "Instead, he let his country fall to the Russians and got himself blown up out of incompetence, leaving everyone he claimed to be serving to—"

"Son of a—" Price lunged for Kriegler.

Price was grabbed by MacMillan and hauled away before he could land a punch.

"He's not worth it!" MacMillan whispered angrily. "He's not worth it, lad! Calm down!"

"Did you see that?" Kriegler asked, looking around the table. "He tried to attack me."

" _I_ saw it!" the President interrupted angrily. It was the first time he had spoken during the meeting. He stood and placed his hands on the table, fixing Kriegler with a glare. "Do not forget, Mr. Kriegler, that it was _you_ who recommend that Shepherd be given command of Shadow Company and it was _you_ provided him with a blank check. The world payed the price and he smeared the names of many great men."

"Mr. President, I—"

" _And_ ," the President continued, speaking over Kriegler, "If you _dare_ dishonor the memory of those lost in the line of duty or John MacTavish again, I will have you thrown out of this White House in an _instant_! Your credentials do not give you the right to insult those who keep our great nations safe, nor those who have saved your life! _Now_ , you will sit your ass back in that chair and you will not speak unless you are spoken to! Do I make myself clear?"

Kriegler sunk into his chair, a look of fear in his eyes. He said nothing more.

"There's no point in this," Price grunted, turning to leave. "I have to get back to work."

MacMillan grabbed Price's shoulder before the younger soldier left the room and leaned close. "You find that bastard, and I'll get you all the equipment you need."

Price nodded and exited the room.

Once in the hallway, Price realized that he had nowhere to go. _Maybe, I'll have better luck with the group session._

Price sat down against the wall beside the door and took out a cigar. He hadn't smoked in three months. Just as he was about to light the cigar, he heard a commotion from the room across the hall.

The door opened and Price heard a string of fluent Russian. He didn't know what was being said, but the man who stomped into the hallway wasn't happy, so it couldn't have been complimentary.

The door slammed shut and the man turned around, straightening his suit jacket.

"Yuri," Price said in surprise. The Russian in front of him took deep breath and chuckled. Price put away his unlit cigar. "Haven't seen you in a few months. Never pegged you for suits."

"I hate this thing," Yuri grunted. He looked at Price's military suit. "You look out of place too."

"Feels like it," Price grunted. "Vorshevsky giving you trouble about Makarov?"

"No, it's his dipshit Minister of Defense," Yuri answered. "He's the equivalent of the United States Secretary of Defense. He's scared of reality. In reality, he's just an asshole."

"You have one of those to deal with too, eh?" Price grunted.

Yuri nodded.

An awkward silence settled between them.

Yuri sighed. "Mind if I join you?"

"You might as well," Price grunted. "We're both stuck here until the joint session."

Yuri set down a coded case and sat against the wall next to Price.

"The world is in denial," Yuri spat, shaking his head. "They've forgotten the real threat."

Price stared ahead, saying nothing.

Yuri sighed again and rested his head against the wall.

…

They were silent for a few minutes. The hallway had remained empty aside from the secret service agents keeping watch at either exit.

Yuri took another deep breath and shook his head in frustration.

"That night in the forest," Price said, drawing Yuri's gaze. "When I held a gun to your head… I told you that I was going to pull the trigger. That was true."

Yuri looked at Price. "I know."

Price glanced at the Russian. "I would have been wrong."

Yuri looked away and nodded to himself. _So the man Soap knew is still in there._

Yuri opened his coded case slightly and grasped something.

"Where do we go from here?" Yuri asked.

Price became stone faced and spoke angrily through gritted teeth. "We find Makarov and tear him apart."

Yuri inwardly sighed. _It is not the time. Makarov has to die first._ Yuri closed and locked the case again. _Only then will Price remember. Only then will Price understand._

"I just wish that I could give Makarov a call," Price growled. "Let him know exactly what's coming to him."

Yuri slowly nodded before freezing. "Son of a bitch," he whispered. He quickly rose to his feet. "I think I know how to find that bastard."

Yuri extended his hand.

Price hesitated only for a second before grasping it.

Yuri hauled Price to his feet. "Where is the strategy room?"

"The War Room is three stories underground," Price answered. "Why?"

"We need to pick someone up first."

…

Nikolai behind a group of tourists, listening to the droning tour guide. _God, this is boring. I need a challenge._ He started walking as the crowd moved on. _Anything is better than doing nothing._

Nikolai started walking with the group again as the tour guide continued talking about the various U.S. Presidents of the past.

Suddenly, Nikolai was grabbed and hauled into a separate hallway. He began to curse in Russian until he saw who his captors were.

"Price! Yuri!" Nikolai exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Finding Makarov," Price answered. "I think."

"We are," Yuri assured them. "Do you still have friends from your undercover days?"

Nikolai nodded. "A few."

"Good. We'll need them," Yuri said as they started walking again. "Price, if you still have friends in the U.S. military, we'll have to contact them as well. Let's get to the War Room."

The War Room at the White House was a large round room a few stories underground. A President could run the country from there. It held a large thirty-foot-wide screen in the center of the room as well as desks with smaller monitors and phones.

When Nikolai, Price, and Yuri marched past the door guards without a word, a young officer stood and walked toward them. "State your business."

"We're commandeering your tech for a joint mission with Russian Intelligence to locate a war criminal," Price informed the officer as the guards moved forward. "Help us or stand aside."

"I'll have to clear it with security," the young officer said crisply, grabbing his walkie-talkie.

Nikolai grabbed the walkie-talkie and tossed it on a nearby desk as Yuri turned to block the path of the guards.

Price turned and glared at the guards by Yuri.

The guards lowered their arms but didn't move away from the Russian.

Yuri glanced at the nearby monitors.

"Listen," Price said, turning back to the young officer. The room was completely silent now. "You're a young guy. Let me give you a history lesson."

…

"So in the end we saved Vorshevsky and his daughter," Price said five minutes later, nearing the end of his tale. "The team that saved them consisted of a disavowed task force that included three alleged war criminals, a United States Delta Force team, and to top it all off, a former Ultranationalist."

The young officer stood frozen, his mouth gaping.

"I don't think either of the Presidents would give two shits if we borrow some of their tech," Price finished.

When the officer didn't reply, Price folded his arms and took a step forward.

The guards near Yuri tensed up again.

Price lowered his voice so only the officer could hear him. "Or I could beat your ass, take your tech, and then find Makarov. Your choice."

The young officer was silent for a few seconds. He turned to the other men and women in the room. "Give these men whatever they need."

"What's the plan?" Price asked Yuri as the guards slowly returned to their posts.

Yuri took off his suit jacket and hung it over a chair. He set down his briefcase and extracted a cell phone. "This."

"Isn't that the phone Anatoly had?" Price asked. "I would have thought you'd have gotten all its data by now."

"I recovered the last conversation," Yuri said with a nod. "Makarov informed Anatoly that they were to have no further contact unless in an extreme circumstance."

"You never called Makarov's number?" Nikolai asked.

"No," Yuri answered, closing the case. "I didn't want to try until I knew I had the support I needed. I had to wait until the peace negotiations were close to completion. My plan requires many people working together at once. Now that most of our leaders are willing to do this, their advisors are steering them away."

"But you have a plan," Price guessed.

"We're going to call this number and we're going to track it ourselves," Yuri confirmed.

Nikolai leaned up against the wall. "That will be difficult. Makarov will have his signal bouncing everywhere."

"It's more complicated than that," Yuri warned. "Makarov has advanced security on all his phones."

"How advanced?" Price asked.

Yuri placed the cell phone on the desk. "Most phone security systems start at a specific tower and bounce sequentially like a straight line when the tracking starts," Yuri started to explain. "Normal security only has a select number of towers to bounce off of. Because of this, the military has been able to track fugitives as they use their phones over time."

"The military would just monitor repeated phone calls," Nikolai summarized. "If they were to pick and choose what tower to start on, they could track over time."

"But it's different with Makarov's tech?" Price asked.

"Yes," Yuri said. "Makarov's tech doesn't have to bounce off a specific tower first. It can start from any tower at random and even use multiple decoy towers at the same time."

"Making the trace different for every device," Price finished. "Even if the same call is being monitored from separate locations."

"It also makes it impossible to conduct an accumulative trace over time," Nikolai added. "So how do we track Makarov?"

"That's why everyone needs to be tracking Makarov at once," Yuri said firmly. "If we have enough people tracking the call, we can turn Makarov's bouncing signal against him. We can use each decoy tower to _eliminate_ possible locations."

"Simple in theory," Price commented.

"Theory will suffice if it works," Yuri countered. "If Makarov's signals were to bounce accumulatively through a country without results, we can assume that he's hiding at a different location."

"So let me get this straight," Price began. "You're going to call Makarov and stall him long enough for our people to track his phone call. After which, we storm his hideout and kill him. What's to say he won't clear out the second we finish this call?"

"I'm not going to be the one calling him," Yuri answered carefully. "You are, Price. The phone call I recovered also indicates that I died in the mines of Siberia. I've stayed away from cameras for months. I'm the only one left alive who knows about many of Makarov's safehouses. But if I make the call, he'll disappear for sure."

"You think you can find Makarov if we eliminate enough locations?" Nikolai asked skeptically.

"Absolutely," Yuri answered with certainty. "We find Makarov and we end it."

Price was silent for a moment before nodding. "Let's do it."

Yuri nodded as well and raised his voice so everyone in the room could hear him. "I need every landline and cell phone that you have, now. We've got a lot of calls to make."

"How do we know Makarov will even pick up the phone?" Nikolai asked Price quietly.

"Well," Price said, folding his arms. "We all know what killed the cat."

…

Foley sat down in his office.

Life seemed so simple with a desk job. He got to go to work, do his job, go home, and repeat. Simple. He liked it.

Still, Foley couldn't help but feel that trouble was on the horizon.

The phone rang. Foley lazily grabbed the phone. "This is Foley."

"Foley, it's John. I need your help."

"What do you need?" Foley asked immediately.

"We need to track a call. It's Makarov."

"One moment," Foley said, placing the call on hold. "Dunn!"

Dunn walked into the office a few seconds later and raised an eyebrow when he saw the look on Foley's face. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

…

Yuri folded his arms and looked at the large monitor in front of him.

"Be ready," Price grunted. He hung up the phone and looked at Yuri. "Foley has his people ready. My contacts U.K., France, and Germany are in too. That should cover most of Europe."

"Put those maps on screen," Yuri ordered.

Seconds later, maps of the United States and Europe materialized on the large screen in the center of the room. Seconds after that, all the known cell towers in the corresponding countries appeared.

"The United States should cover Canada and South America as well," Price informed Yuri. "That's half the planet."

The screen finished rendering. There were cell tower symbols in North America, South America, Canada, and all of Europe, excluding Russia.

Nikolai got off his phone. "You should be getting data now."

Russia rendered on the screen as well as Africa, Australia, China, and Antarctica.

Price turned to Nikolai and raised an eyebrow. "You have friends in Antarctica?"

"I have friends everywhere," Nikolai replied, crossing his arms. "That is why I'm good at my job."

Once again, they waited for the screen to render. Soon the screen was filled with cell towers.

"Is everyone linked?" Yuri asked the senior tech in the room. The woman nodded. Yuri leaned forward. "We're ready."

Price picked up the phone and waited for Yuri's signal.

Yuri took a deep breath. _Here we go._ He looked at Price and nodded.

Price looked at the phone and hit 'confirm'.

The phone rang once.

Makarov's voice came through the speaker. "Who's this?"

The large computer screen in the War Room started to change. Red lines began to traverse through the cell tower symbols. As the red lines went through the cell towers that were not connected to Makarov's phone, they disappeared.

Yuri watched the screen and tried to comprehend as much as he could at once.

"Prisoner Six-Two-Seven," Price replied. "I'm coming for you, Makarov."

All the cell towers in the United States disappeared.

Yuri's eyes flicked across the screen. _He's not in the United States._

"Haven't you heard, Price?" Makarov continued quietly. "They say the war is over."

The left side of the screen was empty of cell towers.

Yuri nodded. _Not in Canada or South America._

The techs centered the eastern half of the world on the giant computer screen.

"My war ends with you," Price answered.

Yuri leaned forward. _Antarctica and the right half of Africa is out._

"Like it ended for Captain MacTavish?" Makarov retorted cruelly.

Yuri glanced at Price. He saw anger, regret, and sadness. _A little longer, Price. A little longer._

"Tell me, Price," Makarov continued as the S.A.S. soldier clenched his fists. "How long did it take him to die?"

Yuri looked at the screen. The tracking process was going faster as possibilities were being eliminated. _Australia and Africa are eliminated as well as Russia and everything west of it._

"I've destroyed your world piece by piece," Makarov gloated. "It's only a matter of time until I find you."

Yuri had his eyes fixed on the screen. _He's not anywhere west of Iran._

"You won't have to look far," Price assured Makarov.

The phone clicked. Then there was only a dial tone.

Yuri looked at Price and Nikolai. "I need twenty minutes."

Fifteen minutes later, the Yuri, Price, and Nikolai were gathered around a world map.

Yuri had crossed out all the places he knew Makarov wasn't hiding.

"He's in the Arabian Peninsula," Yuri stated, pointing at the map. "It makes since. All of his movements and the chaos he's created revolve around that location."

"That's still a pretty large area to cover," Nikolai observed.

"Where do you think he is?" Price asked Yuri.

"Here," Yuri said, placing a picture on the table. "Hotel Oasis. The ocean is to his back. It overlooks the entire city and provides multiple means of escape."

"How would _you_ escape?" Nikolai asked.

"Makarov wouldn't put himself on water," Yuri said after a moment. "It would be too easy to catch him. If he tries to evacuate, he will do it by air.

"I don't think we have time to secure air support," Price grunted.

Yuri nodded. "But Makarov won't keep a chopper on the roof. It's too easy to spot," he explained. "Too conspicuous. He'll have to wait for evac."

"That should buy us some time," Price said, leaning forward. "Unfortunately, he will have at least a hundred soldiers and paid off security personnel guarding him. When we start the assault, we'll have to move fast. We'll have ten minutes at most."

"If that," Yuri said.

Price looked at Nikolai. "Are you in?"

Nikolai nodded. "For Soap."

…

"Mac," Price said quickly as Mac walked into the small office. He grabbed a piece of paper containing a list and handed it to his old friend. "We found Makarov. Don't ask us how. It'll take too long to explain. Here's a list of supplies. Get us this equipment and Makarov will be dead tomorrow night."

Mac took the list. "Whatever you need, son. Do you have a plan of attack?"

Price looked at Yuri and Nikolai.

Nikolai was calling in favors to get them to the Arabian Peninsula.

Yuri was making his own calls to Russian Command, explaining his absence.

Price turned back to Mac. "Task Force 141 is going to initiate an all-out assault on Makarov," he announced. "Nikolai will provide tech support and guard our getaway vehicle in case we need to make a quick exit. Yuri and I will kill all the bad guys."

Mac looked at Price's list of supplies "You know that the armor is still a prototype."

"We need all the help we can get," Price insisted.

"I'll get it done," Mac promised.


	15. One Last Request

"We're all set in here," Nikolai told Yuri as he hacked into the local Wi-Fi network. They had just gotten the truck. In less than two hours, their assault on Hotel Oasis would begin. "It will take very little time to hack into the Hotel's security system."

"Nikolai," Yuri said quietly. "I need to ask one more favor of you."

Nikolai turned to Yuri. "What is it?"

Yuri looked out the window at Price who was still talking to the man that had provided the truck for their assault.

Yuri slowly moved the boxes of Juggernaut Armor aside to grab the coded case he'd been carrying with him for the past three days.

Yuri opened the case and lifted a hidden panel that he himself had installed. He slowly pulled out an object and offered it to Nikolai.

Nikolai stared at the object in shock. "When…"

 _Nikolai tore his gaze away from Soap's motionless body and allowed himself to be dragged by Yuri toward the entrance to the sewers. Yuri stopped for a moment and crouched to the ground. A few seconds later, they ran down the stairs as the building collapsed over them, burying the entrance._

"If Price knew," Nikolai whispered. "He would kill you. No matter what you have done to help."

"Yes," Yuri confirmed. He took a deep breath. "I'm not asking you to keep this secret for long. But if I don't make it out alive and Price does, I'd like you to give it to him. He'll understand. If neither of us make it out, do with it what you will."

Against his better judgment, Nikolai finally took the object. He lodged it under the driver's seat for safe keeping.


	16. The Rebirth of Task Force 141

Following the events of "Dust to Dust":

It was finished.

Price sat on the floor, covered in glass. He was bleeding, but not dead. For the first time in months, he was at peace.

Price smoked his cigar in satisfaction. _Makarov is dead. The world is safe. For the present._

Price heard the police sirens getting closer. It was inevitable. _They would have heard the war. Seen the explosions._

Price finished his cigar. He heard the crunching of boots on glass and glanced over to see Nikolai.

Nikolai looked at Makarov's dangling corpse and saw the state Price was in.

"Yuri?" Nikolai asked.

"Dead," Price answered quietly with a hint of sadness. "He saved my life."

Nikolai was silent for a moment. He reached behind him and grabbed an object tucked in the belt of his jeans. "Yuri wanted me to give you this. He said after Makarov was dead, you would understand."

The M1911 .45 Captain's pistol had returned.

Price shook his head in anger. _But why the hell would Yuri take that from Soap. How dare he_?

Price grunted in irritation before moving to holster the pistol. _It's not heavy enough. The weapon had been loaded when I left it with Soap._

Price picked up the weapon and ejected the empty clip. There was a small crumpled piece of paper in empty magazine. He tipped the piece of paper into his hand and unfolded it.

Price's thoughts flashed to the night he had leveled his weapon at Yuri.

 _"…we fight for those who aren't at war," Yuri had said. "Not just for those who are. We never go to war for ourselves."_

Price weighed the paper in his hand. _I had forgotten why the One-Four-One was created. I had been unable to separate duty from obsession._ Price crumpled the piece of paper and wiped sweat from his brow _. Yuri was a member of the One-Four-One for a single mission. Yet he understood it's ideals better than most._

Price started chuckling. The chuckle turned into a laugh.

"What did it say?" Nikolai asked.

Price continued laughing and looked at the starry sky above him. After a moment, he unfolded the note and read it again.

 **Get back to work**

…

As Price was loaded into the ambulance, Nikolai got in and sat next to him.

Mac had called in a few favors. They would remain under observation at the local hospital until he arrived.

The next morning, Price and Nikolai sat in a hospital room, watching news reels of their assault on Hotel Oasis. Price stood and started pacing.

The doctors had given up trying to get him to rest.

"How are we going to explain this?" Nikolai asked.

"Let the politicians figure it out. They have to be good for something," Price grunted. The news switched to footage of a helicopter shooting into the hotel itself, causing the floor to collapse. "Kriegler is going to have a field day with this…"

Mac came through the door just in time to see footage of Makarov dangling from the broken glass roof the hotel.

"He's dead," Mac observed.

"When do we leave?" Price asked.

"You'll be leaving in twenty minutes," Mac promised. "I'll meet you in the lobby. We'll figure out what to do next when we are on the plane."

"Mac," Price called as his old friend moved to leave. Mac turned. Price grabbed the pistol sitting on the table beside him. "We have work to do."

…

Yuri was given an honorary funeral.

Representatives from the United States, United Kingdom, and Russia had attended.

Price and Nikolai were also present.

Yuri was cremated, his ashes spread into the ocean.

…

February 28th, 2017

London, England

6:30 a.m.

Price awoke early. He never slept more than a few hours. There was too much to do _._ He had finally gotten the clearance to officially reform Task Force 141.

Nikolai had once again declined the offer to join. His flight had left for Moscow a few hours earlier.

The One-Four-One had to be recreated from scratch.

Price moved around his small apartment, grabbing his gear. He had never bothered to find a house. He didn't like to stay in one place for too long. It wasn't in his nature. Some things never change.

Price grabbed the tickets for his flight to Washington. He took a deep breath and knelt, reaching into a drawer, and grabbing M1911 .45 Captain's pistol.

Price gazed at the weapon in his hands. _When the time comes, I will pass it on for good._

Price slowly placed the pistol in a coded case and out onto the front stoop.

As he moved forward, a hand grabbed his shoulder.

Price turned. "Nikolai."

Nikolai stepped back and scratched the back of his head. "I uh, was on my way back to Moscow when I realized that there was nothing to go back to. All I was going to find there was a desk job where little of what I do matters."

Price stood patiently, waiting for his friend to finish.

"I didn't work with you or Soap for long," Nikolai continued as he gazed out onto the busy street. "But everything we did mattered to the world. I can do very little in Moscow."

"And?" Price grunted.

Nikolai turned to face Price. "If the offer still stands, I would like to join team."

Price nodded. "Welcome to the One-Four-One, Nikolai."

"Where are we going?" Nikolai asked.

…

March 5th, 2017

Washington D.C., United States

3:30 p.m.

Price and Nikolai entered an office building that held desk jobs for the military.

"So, this is where we are going to find team leader?" Nikola asked.

"A second team leader aside from myself," Price corrected. "I need someone who I can trust in case the team is needed in two places at once."

"And someone to receive the great gift you keep in case," Nikolai added.

"In time," Price replied. "Let's focus on building the team first."

They walked up to the receptionist and announced that they were there to meet with Dunn.

Price was handed a paper to sign.

"I suppose that One-Four-One could use second, more personable leader," Nikolai said under his breath.

"Nikolai," Price warned, pointing the pen at the pilot threateningly. "The great gift in case is loaded."

"Point taken," Nikolai said with a small smile, taking the pen and signing his own name.

"Price isn't as bad as some," a man interrupted, walking up to them. "I would have _paid_ to see some of _my_ old CO's crack a smile."

Price turned to see Dunn walking toward them. He shook Dunn's hand as did Nikolai. They followed Dunn back into his office.

Nikolai and Price took a seat in front of the desk.

"Well, you probably know why we're here," Price said, getting straight to the point. "We're rebuilding the One-Four-One and we need a team leader. You fit the qualifications."

"I'm sorry," Dunn told Price. "But I have other priorities."

"Doesn't desk job bore you?" Nikolai asked.

"Immensely," Dunn replied with a laugh. "But like I said…"

Dunn turned a picture on his desk to face them.

It was a picture of Dunn himself. He had his arm wrapped around a young woman. In his other arm, he held a newborn child.

"I understand," Price said, standing up and shaking the Dunn's hand again. "Good luck, Dunn."

Nikolai nodded at Dunn. "Congratulations."

Price and Nikolai moved toward the door.

"Captain," Dunn called. Price turned. Dunn walked around the desk. "I understand that you recovered Captain MacTavish's journal when he died. Rumor has it he had a list of candidates in there. There are a couple of other men that Foley and I have been keeping an eye on too… if you're interested."

…

April 17th, 2017

Boston, United States

9:30 a.m.

"How the hell are we supposed to find him in this chaos?" Nikolai asked loudly as he and Price waded their way through the large crowd of spectators waiting for the Boston Marathon to begin.

"He's a local and a possible contender in the marathon," Price answered just as loudly. "We need to find a pub."

"A pub?" a spectator interrupted as Price passed him. Price and Nikolai turned. The spectator smiled and pointed down the street to a small building. "That's the best _bar_ in the area. But I warn you, it could be a little crowded."

"We're counting on it," Price replied.

Nikolai nodded their thanks.

Price and Nikolai walked down the street toward the bar.

"Did we have to try and find him _today_?" Nikolai grumbled.

Price moved around two spectators and started walking beside Nikolai. "Vaughan was in Washington when I set off the electro-magnetic pulse that killed the power on the east coast," Price explained. "He was sent out by his squad to rally the survivors to the White House. He's a runner. He never stays in one place for a long period of time. That kind of restlessness can be useful in the field."

"Being quick is essential to stealth operation," Nikolai added. "If the enemy can't catch you, you can still complete mission."

Price nodded. "He ran ten miles without stopping or slowing down. The reinforcements he gathered were was just as responsible for taking back the White House as Foley was. MacMillan managed to get a hold of Vaughan's transport information. After the marathon, he's leaving for a desk job in Washington."

"Why not wait for him at airport?" Nikolai asked.

Price and Nikolai entered the bar. "I wanted to see him in action," Price answered.

They walked up to the bartender. The bartender handed a drink to a patron and turned to the pair. "Welcome to my establishment, boys. Sorry, but it may be a few minutes before I get to you. As you can see, we're swamped."

"Actually, we are looking for this man," Nikolai said, extracting a picture from his pocket. "We think he may be a runner in marathon. Do you know him?"

The bartender took the picture and chuckled. "Yeah, I know him. But he's not running today. He's my son's Godfather. He's out back. Military stuff?"

"Something like that," Price grunted.

"It's just through the kitchen," the bartender said, pouring another drink.

Price and Nikolai walked through the kitchen and into the long alley behind the bar. The alley connected parallel streets. They stopped short as a teenager came running past. He skidded to a stop at the end of the ally.

The boy looked at a man at the other end. "Did I do it?"

"Close," the man said. "But not yet. Twelve seconds. You need to cross in ten seconds or less."

"Can't you just make me scrub the wall?" the boy grumbled as he walked back to the man. The boy was already drenched in sweat.

"You spray-painted your father's bar," the man reminded the boy. "As artistic as it was, you still have to pay for it. Seeing as you don't have a job, your father asked me to find a way to punish you. You're going to run it out."

"I think I already did that," the boy said under his breath.

The man at the end of the alley smiled and looked up. He nodded to Price and Nikolai, acknowledging their presence.

"If you want to run in that marathon someday," the man continued, pointing to the street. "You're going to have to be a lot faster. And if you want to make it to the end of the alley in ten seconds, you're gonna have to pump your arms. You won't get far just using your legs. Now try again."

The boy took off running as the man started counting under his breath. The boy ran as fast as he could, pumping his arms as instructed. Eventually, the teenager skidded to a stop and turned around.

"Nine seconds," the man called. "Nice work. Now go apologize to your father."

"Yes, sir," the boy said, resigned. He walked past Price and Nikolai, reentering the bar.

"You guys look official," the man observed as he reached Price and Nikolai. "Even without the military garb."

"Are you Vaughan?" Nikolai asked. Vaughn nodded. Nikolai continued. "We were given your name by a man named Foley."

"I remember," Vaughan said, lowering his gaze. "His squad almost shot me because I couldn't remember the counter-word for 'Texas'."

"A mistake I will not tolerate," Price said crisply.

"I assume you're here to recruit me for some outfit, then," Vaughan guessed, glancing at Nikolai. "If you weren't, you would have called me in a week at my day job."

Price nodded. "We're recruiting members for a special task force."

"And what, you wanna run me through some tests first?" Vaughan asked with a laugh. "No pun intended."

"I've seen enough," Price assured him. "You in?"

Vaughan shrugged. "Well, I hate standing still."

…

May 15th, 2017

Dashti Margo Desert, Afghanistan

8:30 a.m.

"I hate sand," Nikolai grumbled. "Can't we go to someplace colder?"

Nikolai and Price were walking through an out of the way U.S. military base in the desert.

"You're still mad about the sandstorm in Somalia," Price guessed.

Nikolai chuckled. "So, who are we looking for?"

"Private Hamed," Price answered, handing Nikolai a file. "Best marksmen in his class. Trained by Foley himself."

"Fluent in over fifteen languages," Nikolai continued to read in admiration. "And sufficient in six others."

"Hamed enlisted six years ago after Makarov's nuke killed his family," Price explained. "He knows what madmen can do to the world. I don't think we'll have much of a problem recruiting him."

When they reached Hamed, he had just finished translating orders from the base commander to the new local troops. He turned as Price and Nikolai walked up to him.

Price held out Hamed's file. "I was sent here by Foley and Dunn."

Hamed smiled.

…

June 21st, 2017

Montmartre Hill, France

9:00 a.m.

"Why do you find peace with death?" Nikolai asked, tracing a hand along the skulls. "Why the catacombs?"

"I know this is a strange place for a meeting," Sabre admitted. "But it's where I feel most at peace."

Price sat down across from the man.

"When the bombs went off, I lost most of my men," Sabre said quietly. "Even after five months, the streets of Paris feel like a ghost town. I still feel my friends. I feel as if they died in vain. So I contemplate with the dead."

Nikolai nodded. He had seen enough war to understand Sabre's feelings. He leaned back against a wall that was made of bones and skulls before quickly stepping forward again and brushing his back off.

"Join us," Price said to Sabre. "Help us prevent wars like this from happening again."

Sabre slowly extended his hand.

…

July 4th, 2017

Monona, United States

7:00 P.M.

"I didn't think I'd ever see a soldier alone on America's Independence Day," Price observed.

Roycewicz looked over and saw Price and Nikolai walking toward him. He tucked his tags into his shirt. "Do I know you?"

Fireworks went off in the distance. It seemed the residents of the neighborhood were getting a little anxious for the real display coming two hours later. A set of firecrackers went off on the blacktop in front of the school to their left.

"No," Price answered. "I'm John Price and this is Nikolai. I'm an old friend of Lieutenant Vasquez. He was your commanding officer during the Russian Civil War, was he not?"

"I knew I'd be called back into duty soon," Roycewicz said with a humorless chuckle. "But I never thought it would happen on the Fourth of July in my hometown. Much less a hundred feet away from where I went to school. Don't they usually use phones for this sort of thing?"

Another firework went off in the distance.

Roycewicz watched its ashes fall from the sky and simmer out.

"I doubt you're here to watch the fireworks," Roycewicz continued, looking at Price and Nikolai again. "So what do you need, Mr. Price?"

Roycewicz paid no attention as hree more fireworks exploded in the air in rapid succession.

"I've seen a lot of vets in my time," Nikolai said. "You're one of very few who hears firework go off and doesn't react. Most would associate them with gunfire or artillery."

"I saw the nuke go off five years ago," Roycewicz said quietly. "I was three hundred miles away. One second I could hear tanks, choppers, guns, artillery, screams of the wounded. The next, dead silence. Trust me, had you been there, you'd understand that I would take any kind of noise over nothing."

They were silent for a few seconds.

"Are you with someone?" Nikolai asked, changing the subject.

Roycewicz shook his head. "I don't have any family. Most of my team lives on the other side of the country."

"You mentioned family and team," Price observed. "But not friends."

"A squad member saved my life," Roycewicz explained. He began pulling grass from the ground. "His name was Paul Jackson. We were clearing the second floor of a building. I got caught off guard and ended up on the ground with a gun pointed at my chest. Jackson shot the man before he could… I never even thanked him."

"What happened to Jackson?" Nikolai asked.

"He died when the nuke went off," Roycewicz answered, throwing the torn grass to the ground. He sighed. "Why are you two here?"

"I'm bringing together a group of individuals for a team," Price said as another firework exploded in the sky. "Along with many other responsibilities, it's our job to prevent madmen from using nuclear weapons. I'm here to offer you a spot."

Roycewicz looked up at the sky. After a minute, he nodded.

…

September 1st, 2017

London, England

1:30 p.m.

"Mac just sent the file on this guy to me this morning," Price explained to Nikolai over the phone. "You mind overseeing the training for our new recruits today?"

"Not at all," Nikolai replied. "But we're going out for drinks tomorrow night? Are you going to join us?"

Price didn't answer.

"I thought not," Nikolai said. "Good luck."

Price walked down the streets of London, reading his file. _Wallcroft. S.A.S. Active during the war. He tried to stop the gas bombs from reaching their targets._ Price tucked the file in his bag. _The failure was not in his control. Requested retirement. Granted with honorable discharge. Stayed in London to help rebuild after the gas attacks._

Price found Wallcroft with a large group of men near the epicenter of a gas bomb's explosion. Price walked up to a man who was throwing tools up to his partner on a scaffolding as the rest of the construction crew left for lunch.

"You Wallcroft?" Price asked.

The man hesitated, then passed another tool up. "Not for a long time. If you want the callsign, take a number. Plenty of people use it in the field. Can you hand me that box?"

"Your brother and I once had a man on our team with the same name," Price said, handing him the tool chest.

Wallcroft's partner stopped working and looked down at them.

Wallcroft set down the chest. "You must be Price."

Price nodded. "It's John Price. Both your brothers knew me. I was hoping that I could convince you to participate in a series of missions—"

"Not interested," Wallcroft said. He nodded at his partner and handed him a board.

"Your brothers were good soldiers and better men," Price continued, helping Wallcroft lift the board. "If you are half the soldier and man they were, I could use your help."

Wallcroft thought for a moment and sighed. He looked at his partner on the scaffolding who partner shrugged.

"One condition," Wallcroft said. "My friend Burns comes with me. The kid's not perfect, but he's good with a gun. Besides, from what I heard about you and MacTavish, you didn't like perfection anyway."

Burns jumped down from the scaffolding.

Price thought for a moment. He ran a hand through his beard before answering. "We'll see what the team thinks."

As Price turned away, he heard Wallcroft talking to Burns. "Whatever you do, Mate, don't touch his pistol."

Price paid little attention. _One more to go._


	17. The Final Recruit

October 11th, 2017

Brookwood Cemetery, England

6:00 a.m.

Here lies the spirit of

John "Soap" MacTavish.

A Great Hero. A Better Soldier. A wise leader. A True Friend.

Upon The grave of John MacTavish lay evidence of many years in the service. MacTavish's military medallion was hanging off one of the flags sticking out of the ground.

 **0 P0S**

 **2073521**

 **John MacTavish**

 **ARMY**

 **RC**

It was one of three objects taken from MacTavish upon his death. His military journal and sidearm are still in the possession of John Price.

Four pictures sit upon his grave.

The first picture was of MacTavish alone. MacTavish supported his usual Mohawk. For a time, the picture was plastered on every digital wanted poster in the United States.

The second picture was Task Force 141 at its finest. The photo was taken before embarking on their mission to capture Makarov shortly after the war began. A group of thirteen men were posed in front of a large cargo plane.

The only members of the One-Four-One absent were Foley, MacMillan, Shepherd, and Roach. Standing just inside the plane was Ghost. He was wearing his signature skullface mask. Even among his teammates, he still looked menacing.

Standing side by side were MacTavish and Price. MacTavish stood with his arms folded in front of him. Price continued to stand at ease, his hands resting comfortably behind his back.

The last two pictures featured Price and MacTavish exclusively. One was taken in a helicopter, the other in a forest or swamp. Even from the photos, one could tell that two men shared a deep bond of brotherhood and trust.

…

Derek Westbrook heard a van park on the road behind him. He paid little attention as he started walking.

The cemetery he traversed was the largest in Europe. It was a resting place those who died in the service of the United Kingdom.

Derek owed it to Captain MacTavish to pay his respects.

…

It had been a year since the death of Captain John "Soap" MacTavish. Much had come to pass in that time.

For Captain Price, it was a hard day indeed. And had one more spot to fill on his team. _The second team leader. Soap's position._

Price had just gotten word from Mac that the man he was searching for was going to be here.

Price had always meant for the boy to be on his team. Soap had taken special interest in him and Price had plans of his own.

"This guy has been on the move a long time," Price told Nikolai. "Westbrook stayed in the military after the war. He kept on getting transferred from base to base."

Nikolai looked at the man walking through the cemetery. "Insubordination?" he asked.

"They were all requests," Price answered, looking at Westbrook's file. "He's looking for something."

"A purpose?" Nikolai guessed.

"Maybe," Price said quietly. He unbuckled his seatbelt. As Nikolai went to follow, Price placed a hand on the Russian's shoulder. "I'd like to do this alone, my friend."

Nikolai nodded. "Good luck."

Price got out of the car. He was dressed in his standard military gear. The M1911 .45 Captain's pistol sat in its holster.

…

Derek knelt in front of MacTavish's gravestone. He had barely known the man. What he did know was that MacTavish was a good and honest soldier.

Like Derek's squad in the mines of Siberia, MacTavish had died in the service of the world.

Derek wanted to continue where MacTavish left off. But he couldn't do the job alone.

In his search, he had been transferred over a dozen times in the past year.

Derek never found what he was looking for. He never found something worth fighting for.

…

Price stopped a few paces behind the younger man.

Derek Westbrook had his back to him.

Price fingered the pistol in its holster. "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

…

Derek turned and saw the man behind him. He locked eyes with the older soldier for a moment before turning back to MacTavish's gravestone.

"Captain John Price," Derek answered. "You worked closely with Captain MacTavish. I heard you're a good man."

"I'm not sure about that," Price admitted. "But I can guarantee that MacTavish was a better man than I could ever be. I'd like to speak with you."

"So speak," Derek said.

…

Price was silent for a moment. He took a deep breath. "I have known three incredibly wise men in my time," Price began. "One taught me everything that I ever thought I would need to know about serving my country and the world."

Derek remained silent.

Price continued. "Another man, a former enemy, taught me to never let things get personal. To move on and to do what needed to be done."

Again, Derek remained silent.

"Then, there was John "Soap" MacTavish," Price said sadly. "He tried to teach me something that I never thought I would learn. He was a trusting man. He believed that the best quality of a soldier was the trust that he put in his allies and the world itself."

…

Derek continued to stare at MacTavish's gravestone, deep in thought.

When Price spoke again, Derek noticed a difference in his voice.

There was regret.

…

"I've never been a trusting man," Price admitted. "I can count the men I fully trust on one hand. It's not in my nature to place faith in those I barely know. That lack of trust almost consumed me when MacTavish died."

Price slowly pulled out the pistol, gazing at it for a moment.

Price spoke firmly, more to himself than the man in front of him. "I'm going to go against my nature. I'm going to blindly trust someone I don't know. Because that is what Soap understood. That is what he had to do. This is how we survive."

Price placed the pistol on the gravestone in front of Derek. The metal clinked softly on its surface.

…

Derek gazed at the sidearm. He knew the pistol well. MacTavish always had it with him. The question of its significance often lingered in Derek's mind.

"That pistol was one held by my mentor," Price said slowly. "He passed it to me. In time I passed it on to Captain MacTavish. And in the end… it was returned to me. MacTavish once said that the pistol stood for duty, loyalty, service, and brotherhood."

Derek reached for the pistol before pulling his hand back. It wasn't his place.

…

Price took out a cigar. "I've read the reports. Those are all qualities that you understand and possess. The makings of a great leader. I'm offering this pistol to you."

…

Derek closed his eyes. He slowly reached out and grasped the pistol on MacTavish's tombstone.

Price lit the cigar. "I'm putting together a team."

Derek's eyes snapped open.

Call of Duty:

Modern warfare


End file.
